Timberlake
by Pyrephox
Summary: In an alternate universe where the war never happened, the G-Boys (and girls) end up at a very special school for gifted children. Yaoi and Yuri situations in later chapters.
1. Arrival and Orientation

  
  
***TIMBERLAKE SCHOOL FOR THE ACADEMICALLY GIFTED***  
  
Woo hoo, nice sign. It hung above the wrought-iron gates like a guillotine blade, all nice and shiny and waiting for the nearest unsuspecting neck. Enter yours truly, Duo Maxwell. The small bus I rode in (all alone, I might add, except for the driver who couldn't have been a day under eighty and was as deaf as a post) swept through the open gates with all the dignity the squat little grey vehicle could muster. From the haughty glance my chauffeur gave the rearview mirror, I suppose I was supposed to be impressed.  
  
Okay, so I was impressed. Beyond the gates was probably the biggest expanse of green that a Colony brat like me had ever seen. The driver slowed down as we came around the first curve, probably to allow the yokel time to gawk. Broad-leaved trees flanked the driveway, and I was willing to bet than none of them had been planted in the last century or so. Here and there, sculpted flower beds trembled brightly in the early autumn breeze, but most of the land had been left to run wild. L2's carefully tended greenbelts were, in my memory, sickly and anemic in comparison. So yeah, I had a highly uncool urge to gape and rearrange my less-than-dignified attire. But there was no way in hell I'd let the geezer know just how out of place I felt here. So, I stared straight ahead, and gave one rather bored yawn, just to get the point across. I was rewarded by a barely audible sniff from the driver's seat. I almost smiled, but quickly turned it into a grimace, instead. Rule one in the Maxwell Code of Conduct: Never let the mark know he's being played.  
  
After my careful display of nonchalance, the bus regained a reasonable speed down the driveway, and when I felt that I wasn't being watched quite so closely, I was able to let my eyes wander a bit more. The place was amazing, I'd give it that. We came around the final curve, and the main building flowed into view. About four stories tall, it was elegant, restrained, and painfully high class. In fact, I'd never have guessed it was something as mundane as a school, if it hadn't been for the small groups of teenagers loitering near the massive double doors. They appeared to be as lost as I felt, various pieces of luggage huddled around their ankles as they engaged in wary conversation with each other. A small comfort, but I'd take what I could get. I tugged my braid hard as the bus pulled to a smooth halt.  
  
"We're here," the driver said, unnecessarily. I slid out of the soft leather seat, and hefted my battered duffle bag on one shoulder. With a great deal more confidence than I felt, I sauntered down the aisle, and gave the driver a patented Maxwell grin and a jaunty wave. He opened the door with a bit more force than absolutely necessary; my smile widened just a little bit. It really was the little things in life that made it all worthwhile. With the grin still firmly in place, I walked forward into my new life for the next two years.  
  
  
Stepping off that bus was not the scariest moment of my life. Not even in the top ten, actually, but that didn't stop the old pump from skipping a couple of beats as the scuffed rubber soles of my shoes made contact with the black asphalt of the driveway. Every kid out there turned in my direction as the bus door slid closed with a noisy screech behind me. I could feel their eyes roam over my recycled Colony clothes, almost hear their thoughts as they compared them to the silk shirts and soft wool sweaters that appeared to be the norm. 'Chin out, shoulders straight, and *smile*, Duo. You have such a pretty smile.' The voice in my head was soft and motherly, the Sister's last piece of advice as I got in the boarding line for the shuttle to Earth. I had a feeling then that this would be a bad idea. Now, staring at all those "gifted" rich kids as they stared back at me, I knew it.  
  
"Hey!" One of the kids, a slender blond, raised a hand to get my attention. When I looked, he waved me eagerly over, like we were best friends or something. I shrugged my bag to a more secure position on my shoulder and ambled over. It wasn't like I had anything better to do, right? Besides, as soon as I acknowledged the greeting, the other kids went back to shooting the breeze with their fellow inmates. I knew the procedure from my days in my "youth club" on the Colony. Being vouched for was the only thing that kept you from being meat. The blond was standing with an older man, maybe his father? Nah, I decided as I got closer, his manner towards the kid was protective, but deferential. The blond stuck a hand out, and I shook it. "Hey," he said again, and I noticed that I'd never seen eyes that clear a blue before. "I'm Quatre, a pleasure to meet you."  
  
"Duo. Duo Maxwell. So, what's the deal?" I eyed the other fellow, but no one seemed inclined to introduce him. Hey, who am I to insist on etiquette?  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
I gestured vaguely at all the students. "Why are we all standing out here? Don't we have dorm rooms or something?"  
  
Quatre sighed, "I'm not sure. One of the staff came out a little while ago and told us to hang around for our first assembly." He laughed, "It's not like we have much choice, I guess."  
  
"Yeah I guess. This place is kinda out in the boonies, isn't it?" 'And way too few walls,' I added mentally. It was the first time that I'd really been outside planetside, and I had to admit that there was a vague, creepy feeling about having that much space with nothing to define it. My art mentor would have disapproved, I was sure.   
  
Quatre shrugged, "It's not that bad. You should see my family's vacation home. Now *that's* out in the middle of nowhere. Ten little buildings, an oasis, and *sand*. And more sand." He grinned, "And did I mention the sand?"  
  
"I take it you're not a fan of sand?" I found myself liking Quatre. Even if he could seriously mention "vacation home" and "ten little buildings" in the same sentence. He had an insidious form of charm, and an air of innocence ... though you could never be certain whether the reality matched the packaging. Wasn't I proof of that?  
  
"It's actually very beautiful, especially at sunset, it's just..." He sighed, "You can *never* get it out of the house, or the food. You know?" His tone suggested that he was a longtime veteran of the conflict.  
  
"I guess so..." I was about to confess that I knew zilch about sand, when the front doors swung open with a horror-movie kind of creak. And, as if we were all extras in that same horror movie, everyone turned in that direction. All conversation stopped as a young (and very attractive, if I do say so myself) woman stepped onto the front steps. Her brown hair was tightly bound into two weird little buns and she wore glasses, but I tried not to hold that against her. She cleared her throat, God knows why, since she was already the undivided center of attention.  
  
"Hello, and welcome to Timberlake. If you'll all please follow me, I'll show you to the auditorium for your... Orientation." The capital letter couldn't have been any more clear if she'd had heralds trumpeting fanfare. One of the others towards the front raised a hand, but the lady ignored it. She pivoted on her toe with a military sharpness, and disappeared back into the building.   
  
As the rest of us peons grabbed bags and scurried after, I threw Quatre a glance. When I'd caught his eye, I allowed myself a brief tin soldier impression. His silver-clear laughter followed us into the cool shadow of Timberlake.  
  
In the inside of the Timberlake Administration Building (as proclaimed by a discreet metal plaque over one of the glass display cases) was surprisingly ... comforting. It was decorated in rose and dark blue, with vases of fresh roses everywhere. Their subtle perfume filled the air, and I breathed it in appreciatively. Catching Quatre watching me, I let the breath out in a low whistle and winked.  
  
And although the front foyer and hall that we traveled down were outfitted with obvious expense, it wasn't the stuffy don't-you-dare-touch-you-dirty-little-boy stuff. Everything was functional, sturdy, but without sacrificing beauty and grace. My fingers literally *itched* for paper and pencil, and I found myself sketching the corners we passed in my head. 'I wonder if they accept decorating tips from the students...?'  
  
After the hall, the auditorium was a disappointment. It could have been ordered wholesale from Schools 'R Us, right down to those crappy little seats with the retractable desklettes. I hated those damn things with a passion. You'd think after a few hundred years of institutionalized education someone would come up with something better. "They sure as hell couldn't come up with anything worse," I muttered as I plopped myself into one. The distressed squeak made me feel a little better. I looked towards the front, momentarily ignoring Quatre's curious glance in my direction. 'So those are the wardens, hmmm?'  
  
The chick from outside was up there, talking to a guy who just *had* to be the headmaster. He was maybe in his early 30's/late 20's, tall, and everyone else on the stage was listening to him intently as he talked while flipping through index cards. The clincher though was that the guy's suit was the same dark blue as the foyer's decoration, and his lapel held a fresh rose blossom. Not my style, but he managed to pull it off well. But no employee that I ever knew of would be loyal enough to color coordinate their wardrobe to the school colors. The others on the platform were dressed a bit more casually, very casually in the case of the old guy in the Hawaiian shirt. I elbowed Quatre in the ribs and pointed him out.   
  
"Oh...Is he one of the teachers?" He spoke in a whisper.  
  
"I hope so, he looks fun," I whispered back, "and I guess this means we don't have a uniform..."  
  
Quatre snickered and said, "Maybe that *is* our uniform?"  
  
I feigned a look of horror. "Oh, hell, no. One's okay, but 50? We'd all have blinded ourselves in self-defense by the end of the first week!" I melodramatically mimed clawing my eyes out and feeling my way to classes as best I could from my seat. I knew other students were looking, but Quatre was trying so hard to rein in his laughter that his face was turning bright red and he'd sunk so far down in his seat that his knees nearly touched the floor. I sat back, feeling smug. Okay, so he was an easy mark, but I just couldn't resist. I resumed staring at the front, doing my best innocent look, and knowing that I was failing miserably.  
  
Quatre brought his fit under control just in time. The fashionplate on stage finally strode up to the podium and gave the mike the obligatory feedback tap. It whined obediently, and he began to speak.  
  
"Welcome, students, to your first day at Timberlake. I am Headmaster Treize, and I believe most of you have met Assistant Headmistress Une. You will meet most of the other faculty Monday, on your first day of classes. Today, you will have Orientation, then receive your dormitory assignments and schedules. Tomorrow you can spend getting aquatinted with your dormmates, and exploring the grounds. There will also be a shuttle bus leaving at 10 in the morning and again at 3 in the afternoon for the nearby town of Mt. Azure. Anyone who needs to purchase supplies and such should take one of these buses. After this week, the shuttle will keep the same schedule, but on Saturday as well.  
  
Now, as to our requirements for success at Timberlake. As you may or may not be aware, Timberlake is actually two schools. You are currently enrolled in the Junior school, which has 100 students. The Advanced school is on the other side of the compound, and has only 10 students a year. A year in both schools consists of two semesters, rather like a college schedule. You will receive your grades via e-mail on the day after exams. For this reason, we require that all students have an active e-mail account. If you do not already have one, one will be provided for you. However, it should be mentioned that the grades you make in your classes are only used for the purposes of college resumes, and in upholding the minimum average of C." Treize's face took on an odd, intense look. "Regardless of grade point average, only *ten* students will pass their year-end exam. And that, my students, is a promise."  
  
"Oh, shit." I covered my head with my hands and groaned.  
  
And I wasn't alone. From the seat to my right, I could hear Quatre saying something in a foreign language ... right offhand, I'd say it wasn't a grocery list. I could hear our reaction echoed in the other students; some were even shouting angry questions at the stage. Treize just stood there through it all, a slight smile on his face. Ms. Une was openly smirking ... it didn't suit her. I smelled a rat. I mean, what the hell kind of school fails 90% of its student body before the first day of class? There *had* to be something more to this.  
  
After about ten minutes of griping, the assembly quieted down, but it wasn't a good quiet. Maybe I was projecting, but it reminded me of the sullen silence of a mob five wrong words away from a lynching. The faculty didn't appear to notice; they all looked particularly pleased with themselves. Did I mention that I knew from the start that this whole school thing was a bad idea?  
  
Treize let the silence drag from sullen to downright ugly before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was soothing. "I realize that this upsets you, and rightly. You are ambitious, talented youngsters with dreams of success. And let me reassure you, those that do not pass the final exam will *not* be sent home, or penalized in any way... except of course the spiritual knowledge of knowing that you were beaten. You will simply remain in the junior school for the remainder of your time here. Or you may, as many do, transfer to a... less demanding institution. Those ten who succeed, however, will be allowed to spend their last year here in the Advanced school, and from there, will have every chance at success in the wider world." He stood even straighter, and proclaimed proudly, "A Timberlake Advanced graduate is one of the most sought after resources either here on Earth or in Outer Space. So, I challenge each and every one of you to fulfill your greatest potential and prove yourself worthy of this honor," he concluded on a triumphant note, and he seemed to look directly at me as he spoke.  
  
I gaped like an idiot as there was a roll of applause and a few scattered cheers from the students who, moments before, had been seconds from putting the Headmaster's head on a pike. I didn't get it. The words were pretty pompous ... the tone was almost funny in its patriotic intensity, and yet somehow I was looking forward to stepping up to the plate for this guy. I didn't give a damn about other people's opinion (or so I adamantly maintained), but I found myself wanting to please Treize.   
  
"Damn...he's good."  
  
Quatre nodded, his eyes wide as he looked at me, "Yeah. Better than my father, and that's saying a lot. What's he doing teaching school?" He turned back to Treize, and said admiringly, "He could be ruling the world, or something." Before I could tell Quatre not to give the guy ideas, Treize continued,  
  
"I'm sure you're wondering what the exam is? I'll cover that last." There were a few groans, and he smiled tolerantly. "Now, however, I'd like to go over our 'Colleges.'" Each of you enrolled in one of the five colleges when you filled out your application. What this means is that you will attend classes almost exclusively in that specialization, except for your electives -- which can be from any college. We do this because we feel it safe to assume that, being the gifted children that you are, you have an adequate knowledge of the basics. If you need help in any of the essentials, please feel free to contact Ms. Une, who will arrange a private tutor for you.  
  
"Now, the five colleges are: the college of the Arts, the college of Biological Sciences, the college of Political Sciences, the college of Applied Sciences, and the college of Humanities. Each of these colleges is just as valued in the eyes of the faculty as the others, and I urge any student who experiences discrimination from fellows or faculty to report it immediately." Treize's voice became cold, "And this applies not only to academic discrimination, but to every other form. We have students here from many various origins, lifestyles, religions, and races. We also have a zero-tolerance policy for bigotry. You have been warned." For a moment, menace radiated from every line of the slender man's body. He seemed pretty serious about the whole thing, but I had my doubts. I'd yet to see adults deal effectively with the intrinsic cruelty of teenagers, but I was willing to give him points for trying.  
  
"There will also be five students in each dorm apartment. This is not a coincidence. We have placed one student from each college in each dorm, partly to compensate for the specialization of your classes. We strongly recommend you make an effort to get to know these people, they will be instrumental in passing your final exam. But, before we move on to that, however," A few friendly boos and another smile. "I want to go over the dorm rules. They are relatively few.  
  
"One: You will not have illegal substances in your dorm. I realize that some of you are within drinking age for your respective countries or Colonies, in this country you are all underage and that is what you must follow while you're here. If you need controlled substances for cultural or religious reasons, the infirmary will store them, and you may check them out as you need it. Two: The dorms are not coed, but we do not restrict members of the opposite sex from visiting and there is no curfew."   
  
There were a few spontaneous cheers at that, and yes, I was most definitely among them. Hey, I'd been staying at a Catholic school for the past five years or so ... what do you expect?  
  
With a long-suffering air, Treize waited for the noise to die down again. When it did, he smiled paternally and began again. "I realize this makes most of you happy, but just because there are no official rules on visitation does *not* mean that you have unlimited access to each other's dorms. Dormmates are encouraged to draw up a contract among themselves about visitation and other potential sources of conflict. You can log these contracts in with the Records Department. In event of a dispute between you, we will refer to this contract in distributing judgment." He took a warning tone, "If there is no contract, the faculty will rule quite harshly, I assure you. I suggest you have a contract drawn up and signed by the end of next week to avoid incidents."  
  
As we whispered amongst ourselves, Treize flipped through his index cards. When he looked up, that intense look had returned to his face, and I felt myself tense.   
  
"Now," he said, "we get to the good part, so to speak. Ladies and gentlemen of Timberlake school, here is your year-end exam assignment. You will be placed into teams of two dorms, five men and five women. Using every nonviolent means at your disposal, your team will attempt to take over and hold this school against both the faculty *and* the other teams. The team that has possession of the school at sunset of the last day, graduates."  
  
And the crowd went wild.  



	2. Making Friends and Influencing People

"He's not serious, is he, Duo?" Quatre whispered to me ... or tried to, anyway. With the noise of the agitated student body surrounding us, he actually ended up having to raise his voice to be heard over the din. In response, I just shrugged. I mean, he looked pretty damn serious to me, but teachers sometimes had a weird sense of humor. After all, in my experience, schools spent most of their energy in ensuring that the students *don't* take over... I was having a little trouble grasping the concept of encouraging it.  
  
But if he *was* serious... I felt a grin tug at the corners of my mouth. 'This could be a hell of a lot of fun.'  
  
"Students! If you'd like to know the rules of the game, please be *quiet*." Treize's voice, backed up by a screech of feedback, rose above the crowd, but it took a few minutes for it to penetrate. Slowly, though, the shouted questions and chatter died off, leaving us in eager silence. Treize nodded once to himself, then spoke.  
  
"Before you all think that this is a license to run wild, let me assure you that there *are* rules to be followed. Breaking any of these rules will result in instant expulsion, no second chances." He sighed, "We at Timberlake realize just how unusual a task we are setting you, and want to assure you that we are *not* 'trying to get you killed' as the lady in the front row so vigorously opined." The girl in question, a carrot-top from what I could see, sank into her seat until nothing showed but the top of her hair. Some of the other students snickered, but I resisted the urge. Never pays to piss off the girls, you know?  
  
Treize didn't appear to notice her discomfort, and he continued, "We are dedicated to your safety, our safety, and to the general well-being of school property. So we have the rules. Although these rules will be printed in your student handbook, I will go over them now.  
  
"Rule one: Although you are expected to plan and prepare your assault all year, *no* attempts at takeover are to be made until after finals. We have set the last two and a half weeks aside for the war games, and *that* is when it will take place. No exceptions or excuses. Rule Two: Alliances are allowed, but under no circumstances will there be more than 10 winners. No penalty will be given for backstabbing... at least of the figurative sort. Rule Three: If any team causes physical or mental harm to any member of the staff or student body, accidental or not, that team is disqualified. For this purpose, harm is defined as anything that leaves a significant mark on the person's mental or physical state. So... a scratch or bruise is not harm, but an allergic reaction to a tranquilizer, a broken bone or sprained joint, or an act of terror such as threatening someone with torture or using a phobia against them ... these are all considered acts of harm. And regardless of who specifically is responsible, *all* the team will be disqualified. So I suggest you exercise some self-discipline when planning your attack.  
  
"Rule Four: No explosives! And nothing that involves fire. The purpose here is to *take* the school, not reduce it to a smoking hole in the ground. And last, but not least, you may not go outside the school for any of the materials you use. In fact, we expect you to log anything you take out of the labs without exception." He smiled thinly, "Considering that we faculty are outnumbered almost 10 to 1, I don't believe that that's asking too much. Also, if you wish to know if a certain plan or apparatus would have a high probability of violating the harm rule, there will be a box up outside the faculty dining room soon. Put an identifying word, *not* your name, at the top of a note containing the question, place it in the box. Within a day, an answer will be put up on the bulletin board. Speaking of which," He checked his watch, then glanced at Une. She nodded curtly, and smiled. "I believe your dorm assignments are up on that same board. Speech over, have fun. You are dismissed." With that, he and the other faculty just got up and left out the back, leaving the students to their confusion.  
  
Quatre, his old guy, and I stood up, passing a dubious look between ourselves. Nobody made a move for the aisle, as it was already clogged with kids pushing and shoving to get to the bulletin board at the back of the room. Quatre grimaced, and said tentatively, "I'm not really sure about this... I mean, it doesn't seem very nice to try to take over the school..." He trailed off, looking uncertainly at his companion.  
  
"Master Quatre, I'm sure your father would understand if you wished to withdraw."  
  
"Hey, Quatre!" I broke in, "C'mon, it'll be fun. No need to leave ... nobody's going to get hurt or anything. Do you really think this place would be so prestigious if it made a practice of killing its students?" Besides, I added mentally, Quatre seemed to be pretty good guy and I knew too few of those to just let one slip away. The older man looked disapprovingly at me, which I promptly ignored to crane my head towards the board.  
  
"Hey, it looks like they're clearing out. Why don't we go see what dorms we've got? Then you can meet your team mates, and if you can't stand them, *then* leave. Otherwise, you'd just be quitting, and the Q I know is not a quitter!"  
  
He blinked. "Q?" He repeated faintly, but followed me as I put my elbow to good use getting up the aisle. Exactly as I'd planned ... the second rule in the Maxwell Code of Conduct: Distraction is our friend.  
  
--------  
  
"Yes! See, Q, you can't leave now that we're roomies, right?" I peered at him, an exaggerated look of anxiety on my face. He grinned back.  
  
"Well, I guess not. At least, not if you promise me something?"  
  
"What? Anything! I don't snore, if that's what you want to know..."  
  
He shook his head. "Nope. But it's a definite condition of me staying..."  
  
"What, already?"  
  
He hooked his arm in mine, and dragged me towards the exit. "Never, ever, call me 'Q' again, okay?"  
  
As we made our way around the main building to the dorms, I finally got tired of the large, frowning shadow behind us and nudged Quatre. "Hey, who *is* that guy, anyway?" I whispered with a backward gesture of my head.  
  
He started, then blushed slightly and waved Tall, Dark, and Quiet over. "Sorry for not introducing you earlier. My Father would be ashamed of my manners. This is Rashid ... he's the family's retainer."  
  
Rashid bowed. "I was asked to accompany young Master Quatre and see him well settled." I blinked, and mouthed at Quatre, '...master?' His blush deepened and he shrugged uncomfortably. In a fit of nobility, I resisted the urge to snicker, contenting myself with looking Rashid over critically and saying with a wink at Quatre,  
  
"Well, if he needs to share a room with someone..." I twitched my eyebrows and let the statement trail off suggestively.  
  
After a moment of stunned silence, Quatre burst out laughing as Rashid's already swarthy complexion took on a reddish tone. As his young charge giggled helplessly, he replied with admirable dignity, "I am not staying. As soon as Master Quatre is comfortable, I will return to the Colony." I thought I saw relief lurking in those dark eyes at the prospect, and I felt a little sorry for picking on him. In a halfhearted attempt to reassure him, I patted his shoulder heartily and leaned closer to say, "Don't worry too much, Rashid, you're not really my type."  
  
He replied gravely, "I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps if I stayed for a few days, you would reconsider?" As one of the Sisters used to say, you could have knocked me over with a feather. My face flooded with heat and uncharacteristically speechless, I heard Quatre howling with laughter as if from a long way away. Rashid smirked as I tried to regain my composure. "Never mind, Mr. Maxwell. You are not my ... type, either. Now, shall we continue to the dorm, or would you like to try again?"  
  
I could only nod, my face (I was sure) a bright, cherry red. Rashid nodded graciously and waited for Quatre, who by this point was trying to catch his breath. I glared at him, but he was studiously avoiding my eyes. I sighed philosophically. Everybody has to play the straight man occasionally, right? Eventually, the blond got himself under some kind of control, and we continued to the dorm.  
  
We walked in silence, except for Quatre's quiet chuckle whenever he looked in my direction.  
  
*******  
  
Needless to say, by the time we got to our dorm building, 7A according to the small wooden sign on the door, I was restraining the impulse to strangle my new friend. Okay, yes, I started it and the joke ended up on me, but... sheesh, it wasn't that funny. I shot Quatre another glare, setting off a fresh round of chuckling, and shoved open the door to the building, intending to stomp angrily therein. But instead of the flat bang of wood against wall, there was a heavy thump and a muffled, but no less furious, yell as the door only made it halfway open, then bounced back.  
  
"Shit," I swore, as the door was yanked open from the inside and I met a pair of raging, almond shaped black eyes. They raked over me with a scathing dismissal that made my teeth clench around my instinctive apology.   
  
"What the hell do you think you were doing, you clumsy idiot?" The belligerent, condescending, and haughty tone of the rebuke (however well deserved) reminded me of every one of the rich bastards that had tormented me at my last school, and any shred of repentance I had evaporated in the heat of memory and indignation.  
  
I felt my lips curl into a sneer, as I shot back, "What, you never seen anybody open a door, before? Maybe if you had the common sense of a turnip, you'd know not to stand behind the damn thing!"  
  
His gaze roamed contemptuously over my somewhat threadbare clothes, and the smile that touched his thin lips was hard and mocking. "I'm sorry, I should have realized that every school has a charity case. Until you've gotten some lessons in how civilized people behave, I'll be sure to make ... exceptions for your obvious ignorance and lack of proper upbringing."  
  
My fist shot out with a will of its own, and the other boy's nose almost seemed to explode. The next thing I remember clearly, Quatre and Rashid had grabbed both of our squirming, bleeding forms and had dragged us into the dorm's main room.  
  
The other boy stopped struggling about the same time that I did, and irritably gestured for Rashid to release him. At Quatre's nod, Rashid let go, but hovered well within arm's reach. It would have been gratifying, if Quatre hadn't been doing the same to me. I scowled at everyone indiscriminately, and sucked my split lip between my teeth, where the copperpenny taste of blood gave me something other than pounding that guy into the dirt to think about.  
  
Both of our shirts were splattered with each other's blood, but I got some small satisfaction out of the fact that my preferred black t-shirt was handling it better than the other guy's pure white, almost knee-length tunic. My lips twitched with smug humor, and I saw his eyes narrow. He took a step forward. My fists clenched.  
  
"Stop it!" Quatre hissed, placing himself between us, arms outstretched. "You're going to get kicked out if you keep this up. Just calm down, Duo." He said, with a level stare in my direction. I felt resentment bubble, even as my stance relaxed. He said it like it was *my* fault. I should have known, though. They always stick together... I should have know that he was just hanging with me until somebody better came along... I slipped deeper into my sudden pity attack, and almost missed Quatre whirling to face the other participant in the fight.  
  
"And you!" The blond glared at at the Chinese boy, who topped him by two inches easy, "How dare you say such things about my friend? And how do your think Headmaster Treize would like it, after what he said at orientation?"  
  
The boy's black gaze narrowed, "I don't respond to threats." But uneasiness lurked behind the obsidian of his eyes. I snorted, knowing that I wasn't helping but unable to resist. Since Quatre's unexpected defense, I was kind of operating on auto, the part of me that wasn't basking in the word 'friend', anyway. And on yours truly, that meant that I was being a smart-ass.  
  
"Duo, stop it!" Quatre said warningly, as he headed off another attempt to reach me. I smiled thinly, and felt a fresh trickle of blood slide down my chin. I ignored it and laced my hands behind my back to show my willingness to cooperate, but not trusting my voice not to ruin it by showing off. He flashed me a smile, although his eyes were grave. Quatre turned back to the other, stuck out a hand and said, "I'm Quatre, and this is Duo, and that's Rashid. What's your name?"  
  
"Chang Wufei," he said, ignoring the hand but unbending enough to bow gravely. His voice was painfully nasal from the injury to his nose, and I squirmed uncomfortably. I knew how much a broken nose hurt, but Wufei was handling it a bit better than I had. Of course, I'd been around eight at the time.  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Wufei." Quatre bowed back, and shot a significant look in my direction. I sighed.  
  
"Yeah, sure. Me too." I did not bow. From the small sigh that escaped Quatre, I think he'd expected better, but I'd be damned if I was going to welcome with open arms the guy who'd insulted Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, even if hadn't been on purpose.   
For a moment, nobody spoke, then I cleared my throat. "Uh, what do we do now? I mean, Wufei and I could probably get each other kicked out. Or we could just forget about it." I shifted uncomfortably. "I'd kinda prefer the latter. What about you?"  
  
Wufei crossed his arms over his chest, and looked away. He shrugged, "I can always find another school. But Timberlake has an unmatched reputation. I believe that *I* could restrain myself from any further outbursts."  
  
My teeth clenched, but I managed to keep my voice neutral, "So can I." Mentally, I added, as long as he stays the hell out of my way.  
  
Quatre smiled at both of us, doing a Captain Carrot-esque job of ignoring the razor-edge tension in the room. "Well, that's settled then. I'm sure we'll get along just fine once we get to know each other."  
  
Mine and Wufei's eyes met in a moment of perfect understanding. 'Not damn likely.'  
  
From behind the four of us, near the door, there came a soft cough. We turned as one to see another kid about our age, standing rather uncertainly at the threshold. He took in our appearance with one wide, forest-green eye. The other was hidden behind an improbable arrangement of glossy black bangs. He carried two battered suitcases, and one dufflebag like my own slung around his right shoulder.  
  
The visible corner of his mouth attempted a smile as he took us in. "Am I interrupting something?"  
  
"No, not at all!" said Quatre. His relief wasn't blatantly obvious. As long as you were blind, deaf, and had the empathic ability of celery, that was. The green-eyed boy seemed to be the polite sort though, as he ignored the disheveled state of his new dormmates and gravely offered his hand.  
  
"My name is Trowa Bloom. A pleasure."  
  
Quatre strode forward and enthusiastically shook hands with Trowa. As he did so, he shot me a look that seemed to say, '*This* is how we greet people where I come from'. Or maybe he was just making sure I wasn't going to jump this guy, too. I'm not the greatest at reading all those significant glances. At any rate, the lopsided shrug I gave in return seemed to pacify him.   
  
When he retrieved his hand, Trowa picked up the two suitcases and asked gravely, "Where is my bed?" I was beginning to think that he did everything gravely. Still, it was a distraction, and I was happy for it.  
  
"Good question!" I said, with a nod towards my own battered piece of luggage. "I'd kinda like to get settled in, too."   
  
Quatre addressed Wufei, "You've been here longest, do you know where the bedrooms are?" He'd moved over to the little 'mini-kitchen' in one corner of the common room, and had a wet rag pressed to his nose. With his free hand, he waved to a closed door a few feet away.  
  
With difficulty, he said, "Hallway goes to some rooms and the bath. I've already unpacked. Another guy's here, but he's locked himself in his room. Heard typing, haven't seen him. Three rooms free." It was barely intelligible, but we got the gist. I retrieved my bag, while Quatre and Rashid grabbed his collection of stuff. As I slung the bag over my shoulder, Quatre seemed to notice for the first time that it was all I was carrying. He frowned.  
  
"Duo, where's the rest of your stuff?"  
  
I spread my hands wide and faked a disgruntled expression. "Damned if I know. The shuttle said they couldn't find it, so I'll have to do with my carryon until they managed to pull their head out of their ass. On the bright side," I said and winked, "I wrangled an upgrade to first class on my next flight out of it!" He chuckled and I felt myself relax. It was a lie I'd been practicing for a few days, and I was glad it went over so well. With Quatre at least. Rashid gave me a look that could have been pity, but I ignored it, and took the lead through the door ... with a little more caution, this time.  
  
The hall was narrow, but well carpeted and it smelled clean. I moved aside to let Quatre and Rashid in, and they in turn made room for Trowa. Our heads turned in unison as we surveyed the six doors in the hallway. The one on the far right bore a small plaque that read "Bathroom". It was a little too early in the semester for practical jokes, so it was probably safe to assume that that was, in fact, the bathroom. The two doors to the left were closed, and from one, we could hear an irregular tapping sound. Quatre and I exchanged a look. "Whadya wanna bet that's the Computer Science major?" I whispered.  
  
He shook his head at me, but smiled. "So, what room do you guys want?" he asked, including Trowa with an expansive glance.   
  
Trowa shrugged. "I'll take whatever's left."  
  
"No preference at all?" I said in disbelief. Here I was preparing to have to fight tooth and nail. He shook his head, and Quatre seconded the motion.  
  
"I don't really care, either. I imagine they're all the same."  
  
I gaped at them. These guys had absolutely no concept of the "social status" theory of school rooming. Well, hell, who was I knock a good thing? With studied nonchalance, I said, "Well, then. Why don't I take the one next to the Mad Tapper, here?" I almost yelled with glee as both the other guys shrugged and squeezed past me to get at the two remaining rooms. Now I was the one third closest to the bathroom, and in a perfect position for slipping into the common room at odd hours of the night. Hello midnight snacks!  
  
I surveyed my new home for the next year with a critical eye. It was tiny, with a high, wood-frame bed in the corner by the slit of a window and a cedar wardrobe that topped my height by a good three or four inches. Bland white walls went perfectly with the short, pale carpet. At least it wasn't that weird vomit-brown that a lot of Colony schools and civil buildings preferred. I tossed the duffle next to the bed, and opened the wardrobe door. Three changes of bedclothes were shoved into the top shelf, but other than that it was completely empty. I took one of the sets and made the bed with the true disinterest of the healthy adolescent male. A couple of sheets, with a blanket unrolled haphazardly on the top, and I was done. Yes, it looked terrible, but I wanted to sleep on the damn thing, not photograph it. I unpacked the rest of my meager belongings, and that was the extent of my home decoration.  
  
Poking my head out of the door, I caught the sounds of Quatre and Rashid's voices arguing over where to put the television (TV! I thought with no small amount of glee), and of some indeterminate sounds from Trowa's room at the end of the hall that might have been unpacking. My oh-so-friendly neighbor hadn't seen fit to introduce himself yet, and I really wasn't in the mood for more of Chang Wu-Fang's idea of male bonding, so I flopped onto the bed and decided to wait for somebody to come get me. After a few moments, the rhythmic sound of typing that penetrated the wall had lulled me into a stupor, and from there, to sleep.  



	3. Classes and Complications

I was scared. I was alone. Everybody who mattered was dead. I wasn't dead, 'cause I didn't matter...they left me here alone 'cause they couldn't live without each other. I rocked from side to side between their pale, still bodies, desperately clutching at chilled hands. Mommy and Daddy had gone away, and it was all my fault. I didn't know exactly how, but if it hadn't been my fault, then they would have taken me with them. I was only six, I should be with them. Right? I carefully placed Mommy's hand into Daddy's and wrapped his fingers around hers, and picked up Daddy's razor blade. It was the special, not-to-be-touched one that his father had given him when he was 18. It had been in the family for ages, and had once saved somebody important's life, Daddy had said, as he smiled and tapped my nose with the blunt edge. It would lead me to him. He might have left *me*, but he'd never, ever leave his special razor. My blood was very red, spilling over out mingled hands like a waterfall. It hardly hurt at all...  
  
"Aaron...what are you ... oh my God." Warm, shaking arms pried my tiny body away from my parents, and I screamed and fought and bit and bled until something pricked me in the shoulder and everything fell into silence. Except that it didn't. It was supposed to, but the hands and the warm, living voice followed me, shaking...duo...duo...duo? What was that? Why can't you leave me alone, I cried, can't you see I'm going to them...Can't you see that I'm...  
  
"...sleeping?" I mumbled as the dream shattered into a thousand biting slivers and I found myself staring into Quatre's worried blue gaze. From behind him, Wufei almost snorted derisively, winced, and contented himself with saying,  
  
"Well, you *could* try it without the screaming part. Past misdeeds coming back to haunt you?"  
  
"Shut up, Wufei," Trowa said quietly from his place at the foot of the bed. The other boy shot him a dirty look and stalked out of the room, muttering something under his breath that I couldn't catch.   
  
"Ignore him, Duo," said Quatre with a concerned smile, "he was just as worried as the rest of us when we heard you call out." I shrugged awkwardly, not believing for a moment that Wufei gave a damn about me, except maybe for wishing I'd go get myself killed. I looked up at him, silent, as we both realized that his hands were still resting on my shoulders. His cheeks pinked, and he withdrew to the foot of the bed, shoving his hands into his pockets awkwardly. My own face felt as if all the blood had long ago drained away, leaving the visage of a corpse. Duo, King of the Dead...that was me.   
  
Trowa just stood there and stared at us both for a long moment. Finally, he gently tapped Quatre on the arm, "C'mon, he probably wants to have a moment to himself." I nodded thankfully, not trusting my voice to be steady. Quatre left reluctantly, with a long backward look. I dredged up a shaken smile to reassure him, and knew from the way he bit his lip that it failed miserably. The door closed with a whisper and I flopped back against the single, flat pillow, exhausted. I hadn't had that damn dream in years, and I'd *never* made noise before. I wasn't crying though...I never cried. I trailed a finger along my cheeks, just to be certain, and found them reassuringly dry, though cold.  
  
Fuck. I let the hand flop back to the bed, trying not to notice the thin white line across its wrist. How was I ever going to play this off? I knew what would happen when I left the room. Wufei would probably make some stupid joke (payback's a bitch, chortled a tiny, gleeful voice), Quatre would try to find out what was wrong, and Trowa ... he'd *look* at me. Sometimes I hated my life.  
  
Still, I couldn't stay in here for the rest of the semester, could I? With masterful timing, my stomach took this moment to remind me that I hadn't eaten for about 12 hours. It's unanimous, I thought with a sigh, and swung myself out of bed. My body felt heavy and stiff. I wondered how long I'd been out. Pausing to yawn and stretch first, I went out to face the music.  
  
It wasn't until the bedroom door closed behind me that I realized that something was missing: the typing from the next room had stopped.  
  
In the common room four, not three, boys awaited my entrance. I paused at the threshold. For once it was out of a feeling of insecurity, not the desire to make a dramatic impression on my ever-present audience. Eight eyes fixed on me, nonetheless. "Hi, guys," I kept the tone cheerful and shallow as I took in the final member of our little group. The first thing I noticed was his eyes. They were blue, but managed to be the complete opposite of Quatre's. They were like a winter's sky, hard but as deep as Heaven. They watched me without sympathy, pity, or any emotion at all. The sheer neutrality of that azure gaze annoyed me more than even Wufei's open hostility. With effort, I dragged my mind away from the boy's eyes and took in the rest of him. I got a vague impression of a grim, but handsome, face and unruly brown hair chopped short. Next to the mystery of his eyes, it all faded to insignificance. 'That's how I'd paint him,' I thought, 'with his eyes larger than possible, dominating his face, but with the shutters firmly thrown over those windows to his soul.'  
  
I stood, lost in thought and planning, until Quatre cleared his throat. He looked vaguely agitated, and I thought with amusement that it was probably the first time in a while that one of his peers hadn't listened with utmost attention to his every word. Sheepishly, I asked, "Sorry, still a little muzzy. Could you run that by me again?"  
  
"I said, that this," he gestured at the our final dormmate, "is Heero Yuy. He agreed to come with us."  
  
I blinked. "Come where?"  
  
"You really weren't listening, were you?" Quatre smiled to show he wasn't upset, "We're going on the shuttle to get some food, since Heero says that the Cafeteria isn't up and running yet, and it's after dark. You wanna go?"  
  
"Absolutely!" My stomach snarled again, prompting a snicker from Quatre and what might have, maybe, under microscopic examination, been a smile from Trowa. As we left, Wufei grumbled nasally,   
  
"We better go somewhere with a buffet, so Duo won't be too noticeable among the other pigs."  
  
I shot back, "As long as that hideous schnoz of yours doesn't put me off of my appetite, that is!" He replied with something in Chinese that made Quatre, and surprisingly, Heero, frown. But since they didn't offer to translate (not that I *really* wanted to know), and I couldn't make a good comeback for something in another language, to any casual watchers we appeared to step peacefully into the night.  
  
***********  
  
"Somebody, please, please kill me..." I moaned into my pillow, as the alarm clock wailed next to my left ear. Groggily, I reached over and swatted it. The blind slap succeeded in knocking the clock off of the small side table to the carpet, where it continued to bleat. But now, I really would have to get up to shut the damn thing off. With a groan, I pushed myself into an almost vertical position, and swung my feet off the bed. My left big toe smacked into the corner of the clock and promptly began to do a little wailing of its own. I could just tell that this was going to be a wonderful day.  
  
After wrestling the clock into submission and grabbing some clean clothes, I hobbled out of my room. Setting the clock at the ungodly hour of 5:30 in the morning had paid off: the bathroom was unoccupied. Eyes opened just enough that I didn't smash into walls, I hobbled into the cramped room to begin my morning ritual.  
  
A couple of hours later, I was just finishing braiding my damp (but clean) hair when the first impatient knock came at the door. "Just a sec!" I called, as I looped the small, frayed rubber tile just below the last braid.   
  
"Hurry up, Maxwell," came the muffled growl through the door. I made a face into the mirror. After three days of cohabitation, Wufei and I still were about one bad joke from murdering each other. We weren't consciously trying to irritate each other...I don't think we were, anyway. It's just that we had absolutely nothing in common except an unholy (sorry, Sister) stubbornness and quick tempers. I checked the tie one last time, then grabbed my stuff and awkwardly opened the door. Wufei brushed past me without a word, and I made another face at his back as he closed the door.   
  
Heero was standing outside his door, leaning against it with shampoo and towels in his hands. He watched me silently. I shrugged off the odd feeling of anxiety that I had discovered radiated from the other boy like those cartoon stink lines. He watched *everything*, I'd realized, with the same disconnected intensity that I'd noted in our first meeting. Now I'm not one to judge, but it was getting *really* creepy. Somehow, I'd have to get him to warm up a little.  
  
"Hey, Heero," I said, walking over and leaning on the wall next to my door. His eyes tracked me, but otherwise there was no indication he'd heard. Like I said, creepy. I tried again. "Wu-fang didn't steal the bathroom from you, did he?"  
  
"No." He turned away to stare at the bathroom door. I looked too, just to make sure I wasn't missing something. Nope, just wood, and the faint sound of the shower. Well, hell. I know when I'm not wanted. I turned around and pushed open my door. As I retreated, Heero's voice stopped me in my tracks. "That was a good idea."  
  
I craned my neck around. He was staring at me again. "What was?"  
  
"Getting up early to be first."  
  
"Oh. Uh, thanks?" I grinned at him, delighted to get a response from him, even if it was a fairly odd one. "I grew up in a dorm. If you think five people and one bathroom is tough, try thirty!" I tilted my head and waggled an eyebrow at Heero. My voice fell to a melodramatic whisper. "Hey, you aren't gonna try and beat me, now that I've told you my secret, are you? 'Cause I'm warning you, you'd have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on me!"   
  
Anyone else would have groaned at the painfully bad attempt at humor. Heero appeared to consider it seriously. After a moment, he shook his head. "I don't believe the lack of sleep would be worth it. My first class isn't until noon, anyway. I can wait." His eyes left mine, and focused on something behind me.  
  
"Duo, Heero, good morning!" I yelped and nearly leapt out of my skin as the cheerful greeting chirped from right behind me. I almost fell on my ass before two hands, one from in front of me and one from behind, reached out to steady me. I glared at Quatre, and at Trowa who trailed behind the blond like an obedient puppy. They both carried little bathroom bags.  
  
"Make a little noise next time, why don't you?"   
  
"Sorry, Duo," Quatre said, not sounding sorry at all. Trowa just shrugged. "I was wondering, since both of you are here; you want to go get some breakfast together, after we all shower?"  
  
I coughed to cover my sudden bark of laughter, and reminded myself again that Quatre did not have the dirty mind that I, myself possessed. He looked at me in concern. "Duo, are you all right?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Left over bit of toothpaste or something." I ignored his dubious look, and continued, "As to breakfast...I'd love to, but my first class is in," I pushed open the door at little more and tilted my head to look at the upside-down clock face, "Oh, shit. It's in fifteen minutes." I raised a hand in apology to the group almost dropping my wet towel in the process, "Sorry, guys, gotta run. How about lunch?" I said, as I dumped my toiletries on the bed and frantically hunted down some clean socks.  
  
"I'm free at one," said Quatre and after a pause, "So is Trowa."   
  
"Me too." That was Heero. He sounded reluctant...but with him, who could tell? At least he was making the attempt, right? I shoved my feet into my shoes, wincing as the toes scraped along the bottom.   
  
"Great! See you guys then, okay?" I snatched up my portfolio and supply box, and sprinted through the common room and out the door.  
  
It wasn't until I had reached the art building that I realized that my shoes were on the wrong feet.  
  
"Somebody, just shoot me, okay?" I groaned as I plopped down into the hard embrace of the wooden chair. Everything from my neck to the soles of my feet hurt. Well, except for my hands. *Those* had gone completely dead about an hour ago. I glanced down just to make sure they were still there. Yup...they even looked human. Would wonders never cease?  
  
Quatre sat across from me; his normally precise posture had wilted, and his head was bowed to his chest. He made an admirable effort to raise it at my plea, but finally gave up and murmured, "I guess your class went just as well as mine, huh?"  
  
I nodded, then realized he couldn't see the gesture. "If that means that you were fed to a crazy, rose-addicted headmaster with a deep and abiding hatred of chairs and an opera fetish, then hell yeah." I think he smiled. "Where's Trowa?" I asked, "I thought he was supposed to eat with us?"  
  
"I'm here," came a smooth voice from behind us, and Trowa sat beside me, carrying two trays. One, he pushed over to Quatre and after a moment, he slid the other to me. I nudged it back, limp-wristed.  
  
"No thanks. Unless I bury my face it in, it's useless. I've been sketching for five straight hours. My hands," my voice rose in a tired parody of French, "dey are like ze put-ty." One corner of Trowa's mouth twitched, but he pulled the tray back without protest. He and Quatre began to eat, something that normally would have made me hungry--even if I were full. After Mr. Treize's idea of "warm-up" exercises, however, all I felt was empty. Now I know why all those artists are called starving.  
  
"New perfume, Maxwell?" Wufei sneered as he dropped into the seat beside Quatre. I blinked.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You smell like flowers," Trowa remarked blandly from my left.   
  
"Oh, that." I shrugged. "Treize has got this bug up his butt about them. He burned rose incense the entire class period. And he played opera scores. *German* opera scores," I said, and shuddered with the memory.  
  
"*You* had class with the Headmaster?" Wufei said with an aggrieved expression.  
  
"Hey, if *you* want to spend five hours sketching rose buds and dead sopranos, I'll switch, no problem. What do you have, anyway?"  
  
"The History of Diplomacy, with Ms. Une." He grimaced, "And I'd almost take you up on that offer, if I didn't think you'd get me flunked."  
  
I was too tired to bristle. Almost. "Hey, Wu-fang, I was just being polite."  
  
He darkened at the nickname. "I'm not sure you know the meaning of the word."  
  
"Guys!" We looked at Quatre. "Don't you think you're acting just a bit childishly?" Yeah, so what, I resisted the temptation to say. Instead I just sighed, and looked away in defeat. Across the room was a familiar face.  
  
"Heero!" I called, and waved a limp hand. He took his sweet time filling his tray before he looked around. When he spotted us, he walked over and sat down carefully on Quatre's other side. And began eating. I cleared my throat. He took a bite from his apple. "Heero?" I said, and he looked up, a frown on his face. "And how has your day been, Duo?" I asked the air lightly. "Oh, just crappy, Heero! Thanks for asking!"   
  
Heero scowled, as Quatre grinned wearily and Wufei shook his head in disgust. Oddly enough, all three reactions made me feel sort of cheerful. Probably just low blood sugar and pure exhaustion, of course, but I couldn't deny that somewhere deep inside, this felt sort of *right*. Like we were all meant to be together. Stupid, huh? I shrugged the feeling off with a self-mocking grin and motioned at Heero. "Never mind, man, just keep ignoring us. It's okay, we've got thick skins."  
  
Heero looked down at his food, then suspiciously around at us. He then put the apple down with a long-suffering air. "And how has your day been, Duo, Quatre, Trowa, Wufei?"  
  
Silence reigned for a long, shocked moment. Then the sound of four boys laughing filled the air like music. As we fell apart, Heero watched us with an expression so befuddled that anyone who glanced his way immediately cracked up again. Finally, he bit into the apple again, and chewed while watching us curiously. When we'd regained control, he swallowed and said with a hint of embarrassment, "And now you know why I prefer computers."  
  
Quatre, red in the face from laughing, patted Heero on his shoulder. "We weren't really laughing at *you*," We weren't? "It was just what you said, and the way you said it." Heero shrugged, like it didn't matter and took another bite out of his apple.  
  
Now I was feeling guilty. Again. This was getting to be a regular habit, and it really wasn't even my fault this time. While I sat there, massaging my left hand against the table edge and trying to think of something to say, we were interrupted by a sudden attack.  
  
"Trowa!" A tall red-haired girl swooped past me and threw her hands around the green-eyed boy, hugging him fiercely. Far from reacting to this assault with the instant recoil of any sane person, his face broke into a luminous grin. I think the sight of that open smile stunned us all for a moment, because when I could speak again, not only had I somehow been bumped down a seat, but four other girls had materialized around us. "This is Trowa, everyone," the redhead proclaimed, with a possessive arm on his shoulder. He blushed as the girls cooed.  
  
Obviously, Trowa had hidden talents. I looked at Quatre. "Who'd have guessed? A Don Juan in our very midst."  
  
Trowa looked like he had a bad sunburn. He cleared his throat. "This is my sister, Cathy." Oh. Well, shit, and here I was hoping to pick up some tips. "Cathy, this is Duo, Heero, Wufei, and," he seemed to hesitate a second but it could have been my imagination, "Quatre." We nodded at each of our names, while the other girls appeared to be settling in to stay.  
  
Cathy smiled at us, a little dubiously. "You must be my brother's dormmates. A pleasure to meet you." She pointed at a pretty blond who was eyeing Heero, "This is Relena," another blond with a cool and hungry gaze, "Dorothy," a close-cropped black haired girl in combat boots, "Hilde," and finally, a young Chinese woman who was embroiled in a glaring contest with Wufei, "and Meiran."  
  
"We've met," Wufei and Meiran said, as the temperature dropped several degrees in their vicinity.  
  
Everyone exchanged uncomfortable looks. Finally Quatre, ever the peacemaker, smiled and said, "Really? Are you in the same class?"  
  
Meiran sniffed. "As if I would ever attempt to compete with His Highness, the most pigheaded, insensitive, sorriest excuse for a husband on the Earth or the Colonies!"  
  
Husband? As one, our eyes went from Meiran's stiff form to Wufei's mortified glower, and back again. Oh, boy.  
  
There are a lot of things one can expect to hear around the average school cafeteria table. To my knowledge, a marital spat was not one of them. I guess you can just chalk up to another of the unique and exciting learning experiences available to Timberlake students. Maybe they should put it in the brochure: "Sharpen your social skills by sharing in the timeless embarrassment of domestic disputes, no charge!".  
  
Meiran and Wufei were still glaring at each other, and most of us were still trying to process this newest revelation about our roommates. Quatre came to his senses first, and looked away, blushing. Relena, Hilde, and Cathy were next, finding sudden and uncomfortable interest in their trays. I didn't find something more interesting to do until Quatre kicked me on the ankle. I winced, and it broke the spell.  
  
The icy blonde, Dorothy, was still watching Wufei and Meiran. Her eyes were narrowed slightly, pupils dilated, and a smile flickered at one corner of her mouth. I'd seen that look before, on a runaway who everybody'd called Spacer. He'd carried a doll in his knapsack. One day a kid had made fun of him for it, and two of Spacer's buddies had worked the kid over with their fists. Spacer had watched them with that same expression. The cold fingers of memory slid down my back and I shuddered. Dorothy looked my way and her smile widened. I blew her a kiss. She sniffed and turned away.   
  
That girl was a predator. Well bred and pretty, I was sure, but poison nonetheless. I wondered what she was studying. Probably Advanced Character Assassination. Maybe just Assassination. I gave myself a little shake, and tuned back into the melodrama around me. This time, though, I at least tried to be discreet about it.  
  
Wufei had gone into full prick mode, and stared at Meiran with cold distaste. "I cannot believe you brought that up, here. We agreed. And we are not married."  
  
"No, *you* had agreed," she shot back, her voice only barely controlled. "I don't recall you ever asking me about it. And according to the Clan, we *are* married. So there."  
  
Wufei scowled. "I will not discuss this further. So if you are finished embarrassing yourself in public, I do have a class to prepare for." He stood and swept regally away from the table. Eight pairs of eyes (at least six of whom were trying to look as if they were doing anything else) turned to Meiran. She sniffed, chin out, but I could see taut muscles of her arms, and her eyes were suspiciously bright. I felt a certain solidarity with the girl; after all, he'd been an asshole to both of us. I picked up my napkin, wincing at the twinges of pain from my abused fingers, and offered it to her with a flourish.  
  
"So," I said casually as she took the napkin with shaking hands, "Would you like him boiled, roasted, or fried? Maxwell's Revenge Service cooks to order."  
  
One corner of her mouth lifted. From behind me, Relena said severely, "I think that's in rather bad taste, Mr. Maxwell." As we all chuckled, she scowled. "I didn't mean it like that."  
  
"That's okay," Meiran said, truly smiling now. "He's too hard to swallow, anyway." She blushed slightly as the groans echoed around her.  
  
"Well," I said, "With Wu-Fang gone, maybe we can actually have a quiet meal. So, how has everyone been doing in classes? 'Cause I tell you, I think this place'll kill me, yet..." I launched into a melodramatic reenactment of Treize's idea of teaching. Afterwards, Hilde revealed that she had Hawaiian Shirt (whose name turned out to be Howard) for her Engineering class, and her half-serious rant took up the remainder of lunch. As we broke up to go to our afternoon classes, someone touched my shoulder gently.  
  
I turned around. "Thank you," said Meiran softly. I tried to shrug it off, but she shook her head. "No, really. I love Wufei...I really do, but he infuriates me. Um," she hesitated. "You've got Composition with Ms. Noin next, don't you?" At my nod, she slipped her arm in mine. "Mind if I walk with you?"  
  
I blinked. "I...sure, why not? *I'm* never one to turn down the companionship of a lovely woman."  
  
***********  
  
The second class definitely went better than the first; Lucrezia Noin was a cheerful, determined woman who attacked her subject with enthusiasm. Thankfully for my aching hands, the class was mostly lecture and personalized critique. I'd never had my work really taken apart before. The Sisters were just overjoyed to see any of their charges doing something that wasn't illegal or immoral, and the Doctor had always spent more time focusing on realism and stroke techniques. I came out of the class feeling scoured, but light hearted. Beside me, Meiran drooped. "Hey, what's the matter?" I asked.  
  
"Oh. It's just...I thought I was a little better than that."  
  
"Don't sweat it, Meiran. It's her job to tell us how lousy we're doing." I grinned. "Besides, *I* liked your stuff." And I did. Meiran's stylized renditions of figures of Chinese myth and religion were very emotionally powerful, I thought. I thought that might be why Noin had spent so much time on them...in that kind of work, composition was everything.  
  
Meiran smiled at me. "Thanks a lot. I liked yours better, though. They looked...real."  
  
I waggled my hands at her. "That's because I've got the magic fingers," She giggled and slapped me playfully on the shoulder. I staggered dramatically, and things pretty much went downhill from there. By the time we'd made it to her dorm room, we were both out of breath from laughing and chasing each other through the evening gloom. I left her to the tender, giggling mercies of Cathy and Hilde, bending in an elaborate bow as I took my leave, before wandering back to my own dorm.  
  
I liked Meiran...shame she was so completely stuck on Mr. Stick-in-the-mud. Ah well, I thought, as I tugged open the door to our dorm, no doubt things would work out. One way or the other.  



	4. Dragons and Drama

  
It was a week later when Quatre walked quietly into my room. "I'm worried about Wufei," he said gravely.   
  
I glanced over the top of my easel. Quatre was glaring at me. This, in itself, was anomaly enough to make me place my pencil on the bed beside me and attempt to follow the conversation. "Huh?"  
  
"I said that I was worried about Wufei, and it's your fault."  
  
Okay, now I was seriously confused. I hadn't said more than two words to Wufei in days. As far as I was concerned, we were doing about as well as could be expected. "What are you talking about, Quatre? I haven't even *seen* Wu-fang since..." Quatre pointed at something on the wall, "Oh."  
  
"Yes, *oh*. How could you go out with Meiran, of all people? You know they're...involved."  
  
I snorted, turning away from the sketch of Meiran I'd made the other day. Although still incomplete, it captured the way she laughed...fiercely, as if she were throwing the sound at the world. I was rather proud of it. I scowled back at my best friend. "He doesn't *want* to be involved, remember?" Just another in a long line of reasons to call him a fool, in my opinion.  
  
"I know he says that, but I think you two are hurting him. He's just too proud to show it." Quatre sighed at my dubious expression. "Look, I don't know how I know, but I'm right about this. I just am." His soft blue eyes pleaded with me to understand, and as usual, I felt my irritation slip into something more complicated.  
  
"Okay, so let's say you're right," I shrugged, "So what?" Seeing Quatre's eyes widen, I hurried on, "He's been a complete jerk to Meiran. She's completely nuts about the guy, and all he does is say--at the top of his lungs--that he has better things to do. Forgive me if my heart fails to bleed."  
  
"She loves him? But I thought..."  
  
I groaned. "Don't get me wrong, Quatre, If I thought I had half a chance...but I don't. So we're just friends. We're both artists, and we model for each other when we need it, and she tells me how miserable she is, and I cheer her up. That's all it is." I barely held back the sigh. That's all it ever was...one of the major downsides to being the class clown is that nobody ever took you seriously. Including the ladies. Quatre appeared to be thinking. I picked up my pencil and began to sketch again.  
  
"Don't you think you should tell him that there's nothing going on between you two?"  
  
This time, I did sigh and set the lead down again. "Why? One, that's not the kinda thing that guys do, normally. Especially guys like me and Wufei, who hate each other's guts. Two, he wouldn't believe me. I mean, would *you*?"  
  
He looked confused. "Of course."  
  
"Yeah, well, you're the exception, I assure you. All it would do is make him even more suspicious. If he even cares in the first place, which I'm not sure he does. Meiran says she's tried everything short of stripping naked and leaping into his bed." Quatre's cheeks pinked, so I decided not to mention that she *had* tried to get Wufei to strip. Study of human anatomy, my ass. I shrugged. "I think if anything, Wufei could use a dose of jealousy, so he knows what he's missing."  
  
"I still think you should try, Duo. Remember, we've got to work together, and interpersonal conflicts make co-operation under stressful circumstances difficult, according to Mr. Peacecraft." His voice was still quiet and concerned, but steel lurked beneath. God save me from the peacemakers.  
  
I grimaced. "You're not going to let me get back to work until I agree, are you, old buddy, old pal?"  
  
He smiled, and as always, it was like being bathed in sudden ray of sunshine. "Nope. Thanks a lot, Duo."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, no applause, just send money. Besides, I'm only promising to *try*. If he doesn't want to hear it, I'm not going to break my back persuading him. And I'll bet fifty credits that it just makes things worse. But," I looked at his expectant face, "I will *try*."  
  
Four days later, I was still trying. To explain part of the difficulty, allow me to describe the grounds. The five Colleges were arranged in a loose (and *large*) circle, with the southernmost building as Administration and the Cafeterias. The dorms were in the center of that circle, and beyond it, forest and fields stretched for a couple of miles in every direction but south. The Art buildings were to the west, while the Political Science compound was at the southeastern edge. If you ran, you could get from one to the other in about 20 minutes. Luckily for us, we generally only had two four-to-five hour classes a day, and almost always in the same compound. But it did mean that by the time I could hoof it from Art to PolSci, Wufei was long gone.  
  
He wasn't eating with us anymore, and I wasn't about to lose sleep waiting for him to come in at night. I don't believe that "nanny" was anywhere in the job description. Trying to track him through friends revealed that he didn't really have any. Everyday after classes he just went...somewhere. It wasn't off campus, because I'd staked out the shuttle for a day, but that still left a lot of territory. For once, I wished that Timberlake was a normal boarding school, so that I could report him or something. As it was, my tentative suggestion to Treize that perhaps it wasn't exactly healthy for someone to spend that much time alone had been met with a freezing rebuke; "Solve your own problems, Mr. Maxwell. You are here to learn independence, among other things,"  
  
"I don't get it," I groused to an oblivious Heero one evening after yet another fruitless search, "He's gotta be going off into the grounds somewhere, but what could possibly be that interesting about a bunch of trees and flowers? Hell, I'm an *art* major, and I still don't see the appeal."  
  
"Peace and quiet, perhaps?" Heero muttered, without even looking up from his keyboard. I ignored him and stretched out on his bed. I had braved Heero's bedroom after nearly going out of my mind with boredom. Trowa had gone with Cathy down to town, and Quatre had tagged along. I was persona non grata until I'd delivered my message. The fact that I was attempting to confide in the Iron Man should be considered a sign of my increasing desperation.  
  
"What's so special about peace and quiet, anyway? He's really getting on my nerves. I *know* he's avoiding me."  
  
"Just leave him alone."  
  
"I can't! I've got to at least talk to him, or I'm in the doghouse with Quatre for good."  
  
The typing stopped. "What's Quatre have to do with this?"  
  
"Nevermind. I just have to talk to Wufei, okay?"  
  
He turned and stared at me for a long moment, his fingers poised above the keys. I flashed a smile at him, and like most of the others, it bounced off of his inpenetrable expression. He exhaled slowly, then said, "I've seen him walking sometimes around the North Gardens about this time."  
  
I bolted upright. "You have? Heero, man, why didn't you tell me? Wait, forget I asked. You're my hero, Heero. I owe you *big* for this. Anything you want."   
  
"Close the door behind you."  
  
I leapt from the bed and salaamed. "Your wish is my command," I said as I raced from the room, closing the door with an estatic bang behind me. I jammed my feet into my shoes, and took off for the gardens at warp speed.  
  
'Finally,' I thought as I peered ahead through the trees that flanked the North Garden. I was going to do this, and be back in bed before midnight. Up ahead I heard Wufei's voice. Now how to do this, I wondered, as I almost skipped around the corner.  
  
"Hey, Wufei, about this whole Meiran thing..." My mouth finally caught up with my eyes, and the world held its breath. Wufei was not alone. He leapt to his feet, face blazing with anger, but my gaze was riveted to the woman behind him, calmly buttoning her shirt. And it was definately a woman, as in not even remotely underage.  
  
"Dr. Po? Wufei? What the hell...?"  
  
"Maxwell! What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
"Gee, Wufei, I was about to ask you the same thing. Except that it's pretty damn obvious what *you're* doing." My fists clenched as I fired off my reply. How could that bastard do that to Meiran? Wufei's face, already flushed, went a deeper red.  
  
"This is none of your business."  
  
"Oh, really?" My eyes narrowed. I could feel my nails digging deeply into my palms, and taste the hot copper of rage in my mouth. "I always knew you were a bastard, Wufei, but I had no idea just how big an asshole you really were. How do you think Meiran is gonna feel about this?" My eyes flickered to the composed figure of Sally Po, "Didn't he tell you about Meiran? About his *wife*?" Her eyes widened, but I didn't see much more, because Wufei hit me.  
  
I went down, my nose screaming and streaming blood, but my flailing hand caught his arm. As I fell, I tugged, and he tumbled atop me. On the cold brick path, we rolled over each other, pummeling for all we were worth. I freely admit that I made enthusiastic use of my teeth; a lifetime of scrapping teaches you that there's no such thing as 'honorable' fighting, if nothing else. But though I was ahead in fouls, Wufei fought with the single-minded determination of one to whom nothing matters except victory. And he had a left like a sledgehammer.  
  
I think...no, I know I would have ended up on the worst end of the fight if Dr. Po hadn't reached down and thrown Wufei off of me. As it was, I lay against the cool stone of the walkway and watched the pretty stars orbiting behind my eyes for a moment. Above me, I could hear voices, arguing, but it was impossible to tune into them through the ringing in my head. This, a still sensible part of me reflected, was why you stopped brawling, Maxwell. It's kind of fun while it lasts, but the hangover is hell. A fuzzy human form stooped over me, and a blessedly cool, wet cloth caressed my cheek. I blinked, and the silhouette resolved itself into the concerned face of the school's doctor. "Can you get up?" she asked.  
  
With her help, I found that I could. My nose was bleeding profusely; I think he aimed for it on purpose. I would have, I thought with a sort of guilty pride. Speaking of Wufei, I looked around. He was nowhere to be found. "He needs a little time," the doctor's alto voice came from my left. Before I could work my way up to being angry about this base desertion, Dr. Po touched me lightly on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get you to the infirmary and patched up. I've got some aspirin there." It's hard to be pissed at someone who's offering painkillers, but I was going to give it a good try.   
  
Walking discovered new injuries, including a twisted ankle, but I shrugged off her attempt at support. As I stumbled a step or two behind her tall, regal form, I said nastily (and more than a shade nasally), "Is that how you got Wufei, or did he come to you with a boo-boo and ask you to kiss it better?" She gave me a sharp look, which I ignored. I was on the moral high ground here, damnit.  
  
"Wufei was right about one thing," she replied.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"You are a very rude young man."  
  
Tell me something I don't know. But I wasn't going to let that, or the way she was letting me bleed all over her hanky without protest, stop me. "'Young' being the operative word in that sentence, Doc," I croaked. Her shoulders tensed. I was really going to have to shut up soon, I thought just a shade guiltily, before my nose fell off or Dr. Po violated her Hippocratic Oath and killed me. But...my mind kept circling around that one image of them together, Wufei's hand sliding into her shirtfront. Meiran would have a fit. Why would he do that? Hell, why would *she* do that, with Wufei of all people! I just couldn't make sense of it.  
  
"We're here," she said, and I blinked. While I had been worrying at the problem, we'd walked all the way to the infirmary from the North Gardens. She opened the door with her key, and ushered me in. I sat gingerly on one of the paper-sheeted beds. Her face was closed as she got the medical supplies. There was a really big bottle of alcohol. I gulped; I've always been a bit of a baby when it came to getting scrapes disinfected. It usually hurt more than the original wound. Luckily, she bound my ankle first, which allowed me to keep my manly resolve. But as she returned with a sharply alcohol-scented pad in her hand, I cast my mind for something to distract me. Which brought me back to the problem at hand.  
  
"Why, Dr. Po-ow!" I asked as she brought the disinfectant down on one of the scrapes on my forehead. She brushed the dirt from my head, and was silent for so long that I thought she wasn't going to answer.  
  
"Because," she said finally, "I love him." I stared at her, and she sighed. She raised a hand to push back one of the two ash-blond braids that framed her face; it rolled back around her shoulder almost immediately. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but what the hell...in for a penny, in for a pound, as my professor used to say." She smiled, but it was a weak, frail thing that disappeared as soon as she took the cloth from my skin and tossed it into the disposal. She picked up a new one, and cleaned as she talked.  
  
"Wufei started visiting the infirmary shortly after the semester started. First, he came to make sure that his nose was healing properly," I squirmed uncomfortably as she gave me a significant look. "I think I mentioned sometime during the visit that I was rushed because my assistant had come down with the flu, and would be quarantined on L1 for a while. The next day, he showed up, and pretty much demanded that I give him something to do," She smiled.Even distracted as I was, I noticed that she seemed to smile a lot. Warm, slight smiles that reminded me of the Sisters back home.  
  
"I think I fell in love with him then, just watching him vibrate with indignation in the doorway. Anyway, I did need the help, so I gave him something to do,"  
  
"I'll bet," I muttered. I couldn't help it, I swear. It just slipped out; my instinctive response to emotional scenes is to be a smartass. Shoot me.  
  
Dr. Po swiped the cloth over my flesh with more force than was strictly necessary and glared. "Obviously my first impression of you was correct, Mr. Maxwell. Here, take these." She shoved a couple of pills at me. I took them, and swallowed quickly, before she could hand me a cup of water. Dry-swallowing was the normal procedure on the colonies, where every drop of water was conserved and doled out only when necessary. "I'll straighten up your nose, and give you something for it. Then, I imagine you'll be wanting to leave." She stood up and turned around.  
  
"Hey, wait. Look, I'm sorry. It was a stupid thing to say. I want to know what's going on here. I mean, I can understand your part of this," Well, no, not really, I thought but didn't say. I mean this is *Wufei* we're talking about. "But, I just can't get why he...I mean, Meiran loves him, and she's great. Not that you aren't, of course!" I cursed myself. Where did the patented Duo Maxwell charm go when you needed it?  
  
Clumsy or not, it seemed to work, a little bit. At least, she was smiling slightly as she set my nose quickly, cleaned it, and attached the bandages. Although that could just be because she'd discovered my dirty secret: I scream like a little girl. As I sat gasping for air, she murmured, "Now that I have your attention...I know he has Meiran. And I know he doesn't care for me the way that I care for him." One corner of her mouth twitched, but whatever expression that was there died stillborn. "He may not know it, but I do. But, just for a while, it was nice...to pretend." Her pastel blue eyes stared past me, looking at something that I hadn't ever realized existed until that moment. I think that's the second that I realized what love was. Real love, I mean, not the ecstatic, terrifying extremes of attraction and rejection I was familiar with. This was to that as a raging river was to the ocean depths.  
  
She shook herself, and I shuddered in sympathy as her eyes cleared. Her voice was cool and professional as she helped me to my feet for the second time that evening. "At any rate, it won't happen again. You have my word on that, Mr. Maxwell."  
  
I was still reeling from my revelation, reflected in the gaze of a woman I barely knew. "Oh...yeah. Okay," I said, still searching her expression for the echo of that feeling. Just the reflection had almost drowned me; I couldn't even imagine how she felt.  
  
"Of course, I'll inform Treize in the morning of my breach of conduct. It's the only right thing to do."  
  
"No!" She stared at me. I continued more quietly, "Don't do that. I didn't see anything, really. It'd be a shame to lose our doc just because she made one mistake."  
  
"Love is never a mistake, Mr. Maxwell," she said, "but I do see your point. I don't really want to leave, myself. But I will give it a few more days, at least. See how things go."  
  
I nodded. That'd give me time to talk to Wufei. We had some serious things to discuss. And this time, I was going to beard the dragon in his den.  
  
I trudged back to the dorms through the still, dark air. Headmaster Treize didn't believe in "light pollution", so the grounds were pitch black, with only the small yellow lights that illuminated doors to guide me on my way. It didn't help my mood any, let me tell you; yes, the stars were numerous and beautiful overhead, but it's hard to concentrate on that when you're stubbing your toe every five seconds. Besides, I've seen stars. Hell, I *lived* in stars. After a while on the Colonies, you realize what the glory of heaven is all about--a big black pit with little white dots at random intervals. Not His best work, in my humble opinion.  
  
Finally, I fumbled my way back to the dorm, which was also unlighted but for the faint shine above the door. I squinted at my watch. Damn, but these people were the early bird type. Maybe, when this was all over, I'd have to get Quatre to help me throw a party or something to lighten the atmosphere. There'd been way too much angst around here lately, and it was pretty much his fault, as far as I was concerned. If he had just let me keep my nose where it belonged, it wouldn't have been broken. I realized that I was standing outside Wufei's room. The door was closed, and the light was off, but I knew he was in there by the way my hackles rose. I lifted my hand, then hesitated. Hell, knocking was for wimps. I turned the knob and strolled in.  
  
"Get out, Maxwell," the darkness growled. I closed the door gently behind me.  
  
"Ain't going to happen, Wufei," I replied, "We've got to talk."  
  
"There's nothing to talk about."  
  
I thought about making an incredulous face, but it would hurt my nose, and he wouldn't see it anyway. So I settled for a muffled curse as I scraped my shin trying to feel my way to a chair. Trust Wu-fang to rearrange his room. "Ow. Don't give me that shit, Chang, okay? Drop the stuck-up little man routine for *one fucking minute* and talk to me!" I got a grip before I blew out my nose again. "Okay?" There, much better.  
  
Silence from the general direction of the bed. Maybe I'd overdid it? "I...I think I screwed up. No, I know I screwed up. Is that what you wanted to hear, Maxwell?"  
  
"Not really," I said. What I *wanted* to hear was Quatre coming in and saying "I'll handle all the touchy-feely stuff from here on out, Duo. Good job, though,". But I suppose this would do for now. "Why'd you do it, anyway?"  
  
"I don't know. Don't look at me like that, Maxwell," I made a face in the darkness, "I really don't. It's just...Sally is a very strong woman. I'm drawn to strength."  
  
"Meiran is strong, you idiot," I snarled. I didn't want another fight, really I didn't, but he was starting to piss me off. I heard him suck in a breath, and tensed.  
  
"I know that. I've known her a hell of a lot longer than *you* have," he bit the words out.  
  
"Then, *why* do you keep treating her like dirt?"  
  
"I don't treat her like dirt!"  
  
"The hell you don't! Do you know how many times she's come crying to me because you don't want to talk to her, or look at her, or even be around her?"  
  
There was a nasty laugh. "And I bet you comfort her, too." Oddly enough, instead of blowing up, I felt all the anger drain out of me. Maybe it was just that I was far too worn out to work up a good mad. Or, it could have been the barely perceptible hitch in his voice as he spoke. In the dark, you notice things like that. I smiled, and it wasn't an expression without sadness. I was glad he couldn't see me.  
  
"No, Wufei. I don't 'comfort' her...not like you're suggesting. She'd never go for it, and I'd never hurt her. You do care for her, don't you?"  
  
"No...yes," his voice trailed off. When he started again, the hitch was back. "We've been 'engaged' for years. Since we were born, really. And I was fine...happy with it until I realized the woman that Meiran was becoming. A strong woman, intelligent, talented, and independent...who would *never* have the chance to really explore the world because no matter where she went, she'd always be expected to come back to me and 'settle down'. I tried explaining that to her before we came here, but she just thought that I 'didn't want to be seen with her'. That I was ashamed of her.   
  
"I could never be ashamed of Meiran. But I let her think that, because it was the only way I could get her to branch out. I mean, it just wasn't *fair* that we'd be trapped into this marriage by a contract drawn up before we were born. Unless she...experiments, how will she ever know that she'll be happy with me?" His voice dropped, and I knew that he was pretty much just talking to himself, now. "Or how will I know that I'll ever be happy with her? It's just not *fair*!" There was the dull crack of something heavy hitting the wall.  
  
"Hey," I interrupted hurriedly, "Don't tell me, tell Meiran. She needs to hear this, because you're not doing her any favors. I mean, if you think she's so strong and intelligent, then don't you think she deserves the chance to hear you out and make her *own* decision?"  
  
"Her emotions would get in the way," he muttered.  
  
I couldn't help it; I chuckled. "Like yours haven't been? Just because you prefer to brood and kick my ass doesn't make you any better than her. Especially since she kicks my ass, too."  
  
"She's been known to kick mine, as well." I could hear the faint smile. "It galls me to admit it, Maxwell, but you might have something. Other than a talent for pissing me off, I mean."  
  
"That's not a talent, Wu-fang. That's a carefully honed and cherished skill."  
  
"I believe it. So," he said with deceptive calm, "What are you going to do?"  
  
I'm not a saint. I let him stew for a good while before I sighed and said, "I told you that I'd never hurt Meiran. And I'm not keen on ruining Dr. Po's career, either. Something you should have thought of," I imagined I felt his wince, "So I'm not going to do anything. Right now. But I suggest you talk to Meiran, and come clean...without naming unnecessary names, of course."  
  
"And if I don't?" A hint of the old arrogance was back.  
  
"Then that'll prove that you're every bit the self-righteous, hypocritical prig I always thought you were. And I'll make your life a living hell *without* bringing in either of the women. I'm good at that."  
  
"Screw you, Maxwell," he said, but for the first time, I think he might not have meant it. "I'll talk to her. Now get out." That, I was pretty sure he meant.  
  
"You're welcome, Wu-fang," I said and backed out of the room. I closed the door just in time to block another thump. A shoe, I thought.  
  
If I hadn't hurt so much, I'd have done a victory dance right there in the hallway. Instead, I stumbled into my room and tumbled into bed, fully clothed. I barely managed the effort to set the alarm before sleep rose out of the dark depths of the blankets and mugged me.  
  



	5. Moritorium

Author's Note: Okay, I suck. I know I suck. I'm sorry it took so long to get this next chapter out, and this one is not as long as I wanted it to be, either. I can only plead complete and total lack of time. But now, armed with my shiny new Bachelor's degree, I hope to once again get back on the ball with all off my stories. Mea culpa, please forgive me, and feel free (in fact please do) send me nagging e-mails. I might make me work faster. ;)  
  
*********************  
  
With the triumphant end of my first (and please God, only) foray into the world of relationship councilor, life at Timberlake began to settle into something approaching normalcy. Wufei did indeed confront Meiran, and I'm told that the argument drew an impressively large crowd. Afterwards, Meiran tried to corner me and discover my involvement in the whole affair, but I was avoiding *both* the Changs until the temperature came down a few dozen degrees. In class, however, she seemed happier underneath the exhaustion that all of us were feeling.  
  
Wufei was eating lunch with the group again, but I was not. Headmaster Treize (affectionately known to his students as "That Crazy Bastard") had assigned our mid-term project: five full size canvases of the same scene, each done in a distinctly different medium and style. Eating, sleeping, and certainly spending time with my housemates were all things of the past. I cursed Treize's name with every single breath; and yet, I don't believe that I'd ever been happier. My hands were stained with a rainbow of colors, I dreamed about pencils that squirted green oil across a bright purple sky, and for the first time in my life, I really felt like an *artist*. On the day we finally turned the project in, it caused me actual physical pain to abandon them in that classroom. Although, thinking back, that may have just been the starvation talking.  
  
Whatever it was, it also broke the fevered spell I'd been operating under. As I staggered out under the agonizingly bright sky, every one of my missed meals and sleepless nights dropped like lead onto my shoulders. "Oh, God," I whispered--the first time I'd spoken in a week--"I'm going to die. Please."  
  
"You wish," a rusty voice croaked from behind me. Meiran's shoulder crashed into mine and she wrapped an arm around me. For support, mind you. We stood there and leaned against one another. I turned to look at her, the tendons in my neck twanged like overstressed metal wire. Her eyes were bruised and sunken in a face that would have moved a beggar to pity. I blinked. "Do *I* look like that?"  
  
She threw me a look that blistered a little of the paint that I could feel smeared on my cheek. "Maxwell, you charmer," she croaked, "You look worse."  
  
"Damn."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
And it wasn't just us. Our classmates stood (or sat) dazed and uncomprehending in the sunlight, like something from a really low budget horror movie. 'It Came From the Art Room' I thought, and began to giggle. The giggle became a chuckle, then a bark. Finally, with tears of helpless laughter streaming from my eyes, I dragged Meiran down to our knees and howled with hysterical mirth. She stared at me, wide-eyed, then raised her hand. It only had a fraction of its usual strength and power, but it was enough to do the job. "I need sleep," I gasped, feeling the sting on my cheek.  
  
"Yeah. Upsy-daisy." Meiran hauled us to our feet and we staggered towards the dorms. "What day is it?"  
  
"'S Friday," I replied muzzily. I wasn't exactly sure about that, but my internal universe could no longer contemplate having class tomorrow. Therefore it had to be Friday. Made sense to me.  
  
"That's good," Meiran said after a long pause. I tried to remember what the hell we were talking about. Before I could work it out, we ground to a halt outside her dorm. We disentangled, and she flapped a hand at me as she disappeared through the door.  
  
Gentlemanly duty accomplished, I barely made it to my own room before collapsing, fully clothed and not giving a shit, onto my bed.  
  
I awoke to blessed night and a roaring hunger. The pillow smelled like acrylic paint and dirty socks. The last time I'd washed the bedclothes had been...never mind, I didn't want to know. A yawn nearly dislocated my jaw. Perhaps, if I got about twelve more hours of sleep, I'd discover that I still had two brain cells to rub together. My stomach and my nose began to protest as my eyes slid shut again. Damn. All right, a meal, a shower, and then twelve more hours of sleep.  
  
Sitting up felt pretty good, and for some reason standing felt even better. I opened my door, and winced as light from the common room washed against me. I walked in, and saw my housemates sprawled on the various furniture, looking as dazed as I felt.  
  
Quatre were...well you had to call it sitting, I suppose, at the table, while Wufei stretched across the small sofa with one arm flung over his eyes. Heero was on the floor, and he looked just a tad more alert than the rest. Quatre's head was on the table, and Trowa was making a desultory attempt at massaging his neck. Something about the two of them nagged at me, but thinking was just too hard, and I pushed it away. I dropped myself into the one free chair, and its protest seemed to prod the others into acknowledging me. At least, I think a few eyelids fluttered. "I'm hungry," I proclaimed.  
  
"I could eat," Heero said from the floor.  
  
"I could eat a horse." Wufei's voice was muffled by the fabric of his sleeve.  
  
"Raw," Trowa agreed with quiet vehemence, and Quatre breathed a wordless, but enthusiastic, groan. Four heads turned to contemplate the tiny kitchen. In Wufei's case, this meant he was looking into the fabric of the sofa, but I wasn't going to say anything. "Anybody know how to cook?" he asked, sounding dubious.  
  
"Not right now," Quatre muttered. I was pretty sure that he was drooling on the table.  
  
"I can cook." We turned with various levels of disbelief to look at Heero. He shrugged, but showed no sign of actually moving.  
  
"I can cook, too," I said, "but did anyone ever get around to actually stocking the kitchen?" It looked awfully bare from where I say, and I knew that I hadn't done anything resembling shopping. A glum silence descended as memory banks were searched without success. I think I spoke for all of us when I said, "Fuck."  
  
"Let's raid the real kitchen," Quatre said. He levered himself upright and stared at me. "Duo, you look terrible."  
  
Wufei snorted. "We all look like that."  
  
Heero leapt to his feet, and everyone else flinched. "I like the kitchen idea." He had gloves on his hands. No, my mind corrected with pinch, not gloves, *bandages*. What was that about? Heero looked around, expectantly. I filed the mystery for future consideration, and thought about Quatre's suggestion.  
  
"That involves walking," I pointed out to nods from Wufei and Trowa. Heero smiled slightly and held out a hand to the nearest person...me.   
  
"And yet," he said, "there is food." I grasped his wrist above the bandages and he helped me to my feet. We both turned to Wufei, as Trowa and Quatre pushed themselves up from the table.  
  
When we were all upright and liable to stay that way, we headed for the main buildings like grim zombies.  
  
A half an hour later, we were huddled around the kitchen table while huge bowls filled with steaming beef stew were placed before us. The student cook, Matt, had been cleaning up from dinner when we arrived, and had mercifully taken pity on us. He'd pulled the leftovers out of the fridge, and reheated them, while we all caught naps. Then he'd served us all. I was seriously considering writing a letter to the Pope and nominating the guy for sainthood. "Well," Matt said, as we fell to devouring the stew, "If there's nothing else you guys want reheated, I'm going to put everything away and go to bed."  
  
Quatre was the only one who even looked up. He gave Matt a smile and wave as the brown-haired boy put what was left of the stew back into the fridge and started cleaning up. As I came up for air from my meal, I noticed that Heero was eating slower than the rest of us. Those mysterious bandages were getting in the way. I wiped my mouth with a napkin, and since the edge had been taken off my hunger, I decided to practice my nosy bastard skills. "Hey, Heero. What happened with the paws? Surely you weren't *that* nervous about exams?"  
  
He looked up, expression blank. "What?"  
  
"Those," I said, gesturing at his hands, "I mean, I've heard of nail biters, but that's taking it a little far, isn't it?"  
  
"I don't bite my nails, Duo. Do you wear nail polish?"  
  
I blinked at the complete non-sequiter, and glanced down at my own hands. They looked as if I'd been washing them in paint. Wufei snickered. I ignored him, and gave Heero a tired wink and grin. "Oh, I assure you, my man, when I wear nail polish, I do a much better job." I sniffed haughtily. "I *am* an artist, after all."  
  
"If we didn't know before, Maxwell, the way you smell like you've been bathing in paint thinner would probably tip us off," Wufei sneered, but the twinkle in his eyes took most of the sting out of it. I shook my head as Quatre sleepily started to chastise him. God help me, I was starting to find his arrogance endearing. Besides, not everyone could be as charming and unpretentious as myself, right? I snickered out loud, and got looks from everyone else.  
  
"Touche, Chang. But, unlike *some* people, I have to do more than sit in a little white room and write about dead people for my grades."   
  
"He's got us there," Quatre said with a smile. Wufei just growled something mildly uncomplimentary, and returned his attention to his half-empty bowl. "Still," Quatre continued, "You've got to admit, Duo, that midterms were lousy for all of us."  
  
"No argument there, Q." I said, just to watch him wince. "But at least they're over, and I think I did pretty damn good."  
  
"Une said I passed," Wufei sighed.  
  
"I think I did pretty well," Quatre agreed, and Trowa nodded as he continued to eat his stew.  
  
"But none of it matters," Heero ground out, as he glared at the table in front of him.  
  
"Of course it matters!" I exclaimed, "I mean, it's *midterms!"  
  
He looked at all of us, his blue eyes dim and red-rimmed. "But it doesn't matter. Remember? We could ace every assigment, and it won't mean a damn thing."  
  
A look was passed around the table. It was a look that said quite clearly, "Oh, shit." I had completely forgotten about the 'final exam', and from the sudden panic on the faces around me, so had everyone else. Except Heero, of course. I groaned, and pushed away the nearly empty bowl. Suddenly I wasn't at all hungry. "Why did you have to remind us *now*, Heero?"  
  
"Yeah," said Wufei, "Why not before I did that fifty page research paper on the impact of the Inter-Colony Alliance of 2072 on China's economy?"  
  
"I hadn't seen any of you, remember? Besides, just because it doesn't matter is no reason to slack off." I just groaned again, and put my head in my smelly hands.  
  
"This sucks," Trowa said, to enthusiastic agreement from the remainder of the table.  
  
"How much more time do we have?" Quatre asked. I shrugged. I wasn't even sure that it was Friday, yet. Math was beyond me.  
  
"About ten weeks, until the competition begins," Heero said. "I've been keeping track."  
  
"I can't think about this now," Wufei muttered, and drained the rest of his bowl with a complete lack of manners. "I'll think about it after I've had a couple of...days to sleep."  
  
"Amen to that, brother." I stood with him. "Screw the competition. I've gotta catch some z's." Quatre and Trowa rose together, apparently using each other for support again. I glanced at Heero as we sketchily washed out our dishes and put them away. "You coming, oh astute one?"  
  
He shook his head and didn't look in our direction. "I'm going to finish here. I'll be back in a while."  
  
"Your choice. Don't expect us to wait up, though."  
  
"I won't."  
  
We returned to the dorm. I managed to retain just enough stamina to reach the bathroom first. The hot water scalded and pounded my aching skin, and began to wash away some of the accumulated crap. When I felt within shouting distance of clean again, I stumbled out, and walked buck naked back to my room. Then I once again fell into the welcoming arms of Morpheus. 


	6. Pebbles

This time I slept the rest of the night, the next day, and on into Sunday. It was the bloody, late afternoon light falling on my face that finally called me back into the land of the living. A little blind groping got the cheap curtain to block the sunlight, and I turned over, intending to go right back to sleep. To my surprise, sleep wouldn't come. I didn't really feel rested, instead, I had that puffy and swollen feeling that comes from sleeping too much, and the start of a headache behind my eyes. And my pillow smelled like turpentine. The universe, she is not subtle.  
  
I yawned and sat up. I was naked and on top of the rumpled sheets. This was probably a good thing, since the sheets needed washing, badly. The bedroom door was closed, and I couldn't hear any activity in either of the rooms beside me. The clock read 6pm, so everyone else was probably at dinner. I wasn't really hungry, so I thought I might as well get some things done.  
  
I stripped the bed quickly, throwing the sheets and pillowcases on top of the pile of dirty clothes already by the door. Opening the wardrobe to get clean linen, I discovered that I was severely lacking in clean clothes. In fact, all I had left was a black suit of rough synthetic fiber, hanging forlornly in one corner. The breath caught in my throat. It was the first suit of clothing that I remembered being able to call mine...Father Maxwell had it cut down from one of his own vestments. I'd worn it--and it alone--for almost a year. I'd even stuck a real priest's collar in there--whether it was to honor the Father or piss off some of the more straitlaced Sisters, not even I really knew. I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. I couldn't wear that again.  
  
I snatched at the linen, and shut the wardrobe with bang. I remade the bed with quick, jerky movements...it wasn't until I was done that I noticed that I'd made it according to orphanage regulations. I rumpled one corner of the top blanket. "There. Much better."  
  
The pile of dirty laundry was beyond redemption. None of the outfits could meet even my loose standards of "clean enough to wear again". In fact, as I picked up a musty and sweat-stained shirt with two fingers, I felt my skin shudder at the very thought. I dropped the shirt and stalked back to the wardrobe. It was either wear the priest's outfit, or go nude. The latter idea had a certain appeal, I had to admit, but I didn't think my housemates would be amused.  
  
I put on the suit including, after a moment's hesitation, the white collar. I gathered all the dirty clothes and threw them into my sack, and hauled the whole stinking mess into the laundry room. Before I left, I pushed aside the curtain and opened the one window. A cold breeze, smelling strongly of flowers, wafted in and began to air out the funk. By the time I got back, it should be almost livable again. In the laundry room, clothes were quickly sorted into two loads, and the first load was started on its merry way. I thought that I could hear the dying screams of all the tiny critters that had no doubt decided to make my neglected clothes their new home. 'Duo Maxwell, dealing microscopic death by the billions', I thought, and chuckled. I left the second load piled on top of the washer, and ambled into the bathroom to take a much needed shower.  
  
After I'd gotten reasonably clean, I climbed out and dressed again. My hair, I simple pulled away from my face and clipped. There was no way that I'd have the patience to face braiding it at the moment. As I opened the bathroom door, I heard a peculiar thump from down the hall, towards Quatre's room. Had he come back while I was in the shower? The day was looking up. Sure enough, his door was cracked just a little bit, and the light was on.  
  
"Hey Quatre," I said, as I pushed open the door, "What's up?" Then my eyes caught up with my mouth, and I realized that, under the circumstances, it was a question that was really self-evident. And rather impressive, too, in Trowa's case. I closed the door, and headed to the common room at all speed. I really, really needed a drink.  
  
They found me there a few minutes later, as I glowered at my glass of water. Quatre looked sheepish, but also a little pissed. I couldn't really say that I blamed him. Trowa, on the other hand, was almost unconcerned. I could only see the tension in the way he kept throwing furtive glances in Quatre's direction. With the disarray of their hair, and the way that Quatre had put his shirt on backwards, they could have been a painting titled "Lovers, Interrupted". They sat down. Looked at each other, looked at me.  
  
I cleared my throat. "Uh, you want something to drink? Nothing but water, unfortunately."  
  
"No, thank you," Quatre said. Trowa just shook his head. There was another uncomfortable silence. Then Quatre leveled his best Serious Stare on me. "Duo, what you saw..."  
  
"Is absolutely none of my business, and I was wrong to walk into your room without knocking in the first place."  
  
"Well, yes. But, we're friends." He looked anxious, "We *are* friends, right?"  
  
"Hell, yeah." I glared at him. "I can't believe you'd think we're not. Although," and I smiled crookedly, "I would completely get it if you wanted to kick my ass. If I were you, *I'd* want to kick my ass."  
  
"I don't want to kick your ass, Duo." His answering smile held more than a hint of relief.   
  
"Uh, I just gotta ask..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Does anyone else know? I mean, it'll kill my rep as the Maestro of Love if I'm the last person to have figured this out."  
  
Quatre laughed. "No, no one else knows. I mean, we didn't even know until a few days ago."  
  
"Cathy knows," Trowa said. When Quatre turned to him, wide-eyed, he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "She's my sister. She always knows."  
  
"Is that a big deal," I asked, feeling a little confused. "I mean, are you going to try to keep it a secret?"  
  
"I...that is, um," Quatre looked down. "I don't think my father would approve. And Headmaster Trieze..."  
  
"Is gayer than a treeful of monkeys on laughing gas," I said with authority.  
  
Trowa snickered, but Quatre just looked even more uncomfortable. "Well, maybe. But I still think that we should keep it to ourselves for now. Do you mind, Duo?"  
  
I raised an eyebrow. From the look of hurt that flashed across Trowa's face, it seemed that I wasn't the one that he should be asking. I shifted in my seat. It'd always seemed to me that keeping a relationship secret never ended well, but then again, it wasn't my relationship. And have I already mention how much I am not fitted for the role of relationship counselor? So, I decided to trust that Quatre and Trowa knew what was best for them, and gave my best grin. "Hey, Q, man. Like I'm going to spread it around that I'm the only person in this little group--aside from Heero the Iceman--who *isn't* getting laid?"  
  
"Wufei's getting laid?" Trowa asked.  
  
"Uh," Damn. "I imagine that Meiran's forgiven him by now, and knocked his legs out from under him. I have confidence in her."  
  
"Duo!"  
  
"What?" I said, in my best innocent voice. Quatre just sighed and shook his head.  
  
Behind us, the outer door banged shut. Quatre looked down at himself, and leapt up from his seat. He disappeared into the hall, just as Heero walked into the common room. He shouldn't have bothered, really. Heero didn't even seem to notice that Trowa's bangs were reaching for the sky as he sat down in the seat next to me, and opened his laptop. "Good," he said as it booted, "you're up. Where's Wufei and Quatre?"  
  
"Wufei's MIA," I said, "and Quatre's..."  
  
"Getting dressed," Trowa cut in smoothly. I gave him an offended look. What did he think I was going to say? He just shrugged. Heero remained oblivious.  
  
"We'll wait for Quatre, then. We can fill Wufei in later."  
  
Trowa and I exchanged a look. "Fill him in on what, exactly?"  
  
Heero smiled. It was the kind of smile that evil masterminds use in movies, right before they put their world domination plans in motion. "The plan," he said, helpfully.  
  
"What plan?"  
  
He gave me a look that suggested that I was the one being difficult here. "Our plan to take over the school." 


End file.
